


The Corners of the Truth

by anodyneer



Category: White Collar
Genre: Ambiguity, Best Friends, Crying, Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Massage, Prompt Fill, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyneer/pseuds/anodyneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the most ungraceful moments of Neal's life leads to one of the most graceful moments of Peter's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Corners of the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for [sahiya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya)'s [prompt](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/133333.html?thread=1062613#t1062613) at the [White Collar H/C ComFest 2013](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/). Title is from "Barricades" by Pat Green.

Those who live in the northeast often speak of how nice it is to be able to experience four distinct seasons. Occasionally, though, Mother Nature will decide to throw the good people of New York a curveball, especially in the spring. It shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise that a week which started out seasonably warm and beautiful would suddenly turn bitterly cold and rainy on Friday, but it did. It apparently caught the meteorologists off-guard, too, as they’d barely mentioned the chance of a passing shower.

When the reports of poor road conditions due to freezing rain had started to trickle up to the twenty-first floor, and with the skies outside his office windows looking especially formidable, Peter had taken pity on the rest of his crew and sent them home with instructions to be careful. Not all of them drove to work, but it wasn’t fair to the others to keep them any later, so he’d dismissed them all en masse. By the time Peter and Neal left the office, it was obvious that the skies weren’t going to clear anytime soon.

“Still sure we’re going to make it?” Neal asked as they walked to the car, their shoulders hunched against the rain. Thanks to the day’s very inaccurate forecast and the morning’s blue skies, they’d both worn only their suit jackets, and neither had thought to grab an umbrella. Everything that was falling was freezing on contact with the roads and sidewalks, and they found themselves moving more cautiously than usual.

“Oh, we’ll make it,” Peter nodded as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He waited for Neal to settle in beside him. “I grew up upstate, remember? Severe weather driving is a rite of passage.” A thin layer of ice had already formed on the windshield, and he turned the defogger on full blast, hoping to avoid having to get back out to scrape. “Besides, the Taurus has traction control.” 

“Does that really help?”

“God, yes. I didn’t think it would either, but it’s actually not bad if you know how it behaves.”

“How it behaves? So the Taurus has a conscience now?”

“It’s more well-behaved than you most of the time.” Peter raised his eyebrows and tried not to crack a smile at Neal’s annoyed half-pout.

“You know, it’s really out of your way,” Neal grumbled. “Won’t Elizabeth be worried about you?”

“She’s out of town – spring bridal expo, remember?”

“Oh, right…spring. Yeah.” Neal gestured out the window. “Maybe it’s spring where she’s at. Wait, are we positive it’s April?”

“Look, will you stop. We’ll be fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle, and if it gets too bad, maybe I’ll just wait it out with you until the crews get out and treat the roads.”

“Sounds like fun.” Neal tried to inject some mock sarcasm into the comment but didn’t quite pull it off. Truth was, he’d probably feel better if Peter did stay with him instead of trying to make the trek to Brooklyn. The freezing rain was falling harder by the minute, and as they pulled out into lighter-than-normal traffic, it was clear that the roads hadn’t yet been treated at all.

Thankfully, Peter hadn’t lied about his driving skills or the car’s traction control. Between the two, it was a fairly uneventful trip to Riverside Drive. Neal tried not to dig his fingers into the armrest at the few little slips, but Peter seemed relaxed. Though he paid close attention to the roads and the traffic, he wasn’t white-knuckling the wheel, and he made small talk about the insanity of wild winter driving in his dad’s old Maverick. Neal did more listening than talking, but he appreciated that Peter was trying to keep him distracted from the worsening conditions. 

By the time they arrived at June’s, it was pretty clear to Neal that Peter wasn’t going to make it home. The roads were slick, and the cold rain that was now steadily falling from the sky was still freezing on whatever it hit, coating everything in a treacherous glaze. Peter, however, had other plans.

“See, that wasn’t so bad. I should be able to make it home without any problem.”

“You’re kidding, right?” When Peter shook his head, Neal’s eyes widened. “Peter, have you even seen what’s going on outside the car? It’s perfect for ice skating, not so much for driving.”

“If I leave now, I’ll be fine. You didn’t seem very thrilled at the idea of me spending the evening with you, remember?” When Neal opened his mouth to protest, Peter cut him off. “Look, I’ll give it a try, and if it’s too bad, I’ll turn around and come back.”

Neal let out a resigned sigh. “Alright, but be careful. I was just kidding earlier. I really don’t mind if you have to stay.” He opened the door and stepped out into the street, giving Peter a quick wave before closing the door. His shoes offered little traction, so he walked gingerly on the slick asphalt.

He’d almost made it to the sidewalk in front of June’s mansion when a foreboding feeling came over him. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know what it was, but he was suddenly sure he shouldn’t let Peter leave to make the drive back to Brooklyn. He knew the other man was waiting for him to get safely into the house, and he turned quickly back toward the Taurus.

That was when things went to hell.

Neal felt his feet slipping on the icy street, but there was little he could do to stop himself from falling. His body contorted in the unnatural dance of someone who is fighting to regain their footing on ice, and he felt pain shoot through his twisted back and shoulders as his arms and legs fought for equilibrium. Somehow, he ended up on his back on the sidewalk, his legs sticking out into the street.

“Neal!” He could hear Peter’s voice from across the street, sounding oddly distant over the thudding of his own pulse in his ears. He groaned and tried to roll over onto his side, but the answering protest from his back made him think better of it, and he settled for watching Peter make his way slowly across the street. The taller man was bent over slightly, keeping his weight centered and his arms out. It looked silly, but it worked for him, as he reached Neal safely.

“Jesus, Neal, are you hurt?” Peter kneeled beside him on the sidewalk, grasping his shoulders, alarmed brown eyes giving him a quick once-over.

“Mmm.” Neal squinted up at Peter, the cold rain running in rivulets down the sides of his face and into his hair.

“Come on, Neal, talk to me.” Peter shook him gently, but it was enough to send licks of fiery pain through his back and down into his arms.

“Ahh. Stop. Hurts.”

“Where does it hurt? Did you hit your head?” Peter seemed oblivious to the weather. He ran his hands through Neal’s damp hair, but they came away clean.

“No. My back. Pulled a muscle, maybe.”

“You probably pulled a few of them. You looked like you were having a seizure.”

Neal groaned. “Thanks, Doctor Feelgood.”

Peter brushed off the remark with a shake of his head. “Do you have any neck pain?” When Neal shook his head, Peter gave a satisfied nod. “Can you walk?”

“Not if I just had a seizure.”

“Knock it off.” Peter wasn’t amused; in fact, he looked downright shaken. “We need to get you inside. If you didn’t hurt your head or neck, it should be safe to move you. Can you try to walk?”

Unnerved by the worry in Peter’s voice, Neal nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ll need some help, but I think I can make it.” It was probably a lie, but it sounded reassuring.

“I can do the help part. Let’s get out of this damn rain.”

Somehow, with more help from Peter than Neal would ever admit, they managed to make it inside. The flights of stairs up to Neal’s apartment were torturous, the muscles in his back taking every opportunity to remind him that he’d pushed them beyond their happy place – and now they were going to do the same to him.

Finally, Peter opened the door and helped him inside, lowering him gently to the floor before closing the door behind them. Both of them were soaking wet and out of breath, but mercifully, the apartment was warm.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Before Neal had a chance to answer, Peter hurried off toward the bathroom, shucking his wet jacket as he went.

“Not goin’ anywhere,” Neal mumbled to the empty room, his breathing ragged from exertion. Now that he wasn’t moving, the pain had eased somewhat, but his back was still protesting. He knew he wasn’t badly injured and that he’d likely just pulled some muscles. Even still, he was in considerable pain, and he groaned as he slumped over, trying to find a more agreeable position.

“Hey, hey, hey – Neal!” Peter was back, his hands full of towels, spare blankets, and some of Neal’s post-workout sweats.

“Hmm? M’okay.”

“Don’t get comfortable there. We need to get your wet clothes off and get you into bed.”

That got his attention. “Peter, really? I’ll be fine. I just pulled something when I fell.”

“Ok, how about you get up and put some dry clothes on.” Neal sighed in frustration, and Peter nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

It took all sorts of awkward maneuvering to get Neal undressed, dried off, and into his sweats, but between the two of them, they managed to get it done. Peter had been surprisingly gentle and patient with Neal, and he’d grown silent as he ran the towel over the younger man’s skin. As Neal sat naked and shivering before Peter, a towel draped over his shoulders, he sensed that the other man was struggling with how to handle the sudden and unexpected intimacy of the situation. And if Peter’s eyes lingered just a little too long while his mind walked the ethical tightrope between modesty and appreciation, Neal didn’t let on that he’d noticed.

Once he was dressed again, Peter helped him to the bed. Neal had originally thought he’d just sit there and let his body relax, but the trek up the stairs and his distressed muscles, paired with an already long work day, had gotten the better of him. He sank carefully down onto his side on the bed and watched as Peter started drying himself off. Though he desperately wanted to stay awake, his exhausted body had other plans. The last vision he had before drifting off to sleep was of Peter stripping off his own shirts and rubbing one of the dry towels over his biceps, his chest, his stomach…

\--------------------------------

Neal awakened some time later, unsure of how much time had passed, but realizing almost immediately that it was pitch black outside and that the rain had stopped. He started to sit up, but a sharp twinge in his back reminded him of why he was in bed in the first place, and he gasped, barely managing not to cry out.

Pushing himself up more carefully, he caught sight of Peter sitting on the sofa, dozing as _Baseball Tonight_ droned softly in the background. He was wearing only a pair of sweatpants that Neal had never worn because they were too big. One of the extra blankets was wrapped around his upper body, hanging loosely as he slept.

Neal’s back started to protest again, and he sank down on the bed. He didn’t know if it was the movement or the feeling that someone was watching him, but something made Peter stir. His eyes slowly opened, fixing on Neal’s own, and he smiled.

“Good to see you’re awake. You had me worried. How are you feeling?” Peter stood and stretched before making his way over to the bed.

“Mmm. Better, I think. Back still hurts.”

“Nothing else, just your back?”

“That’s bad enough.”

Peter frowned. “Not what I meant. I wanted to check earlier to make sure you didn’t break anything, but you fell asleep. Are you hurting anywhere besides the muscles in your back?”

“Oh.” Neal looked away and shook his head. “Just my back. I thought I was pretty flexible, but everything sort of twisted in a different direction at the same time.”

“Slipping on the ice will do that.” He rested a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “Think you can sit up and take something for the pain?” When Neal nodded, Peter reached for a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen that were laying on the table beside the bed. “Left these here earlier in case you woke up and needed them.”

Neal again pushed himself up slowly, propping himself on one arm while he washed the pills down. His back started hurting from this new position almost immediately, and he grimaced as he handed the glass back to Peter, laying back with a frustrated sigh. Neal was a kinetic person – always going somewhere, doing something, touching and creating and _being_. The thought of barely being able to move without help tormented him. He glanced at Peter and was surprised to see the other man regarding him curiously.

“What?”

“Hmm,” Peter grunted, his brow furrowing. “Just thinking. I’m pretty sure you have a deep muscle strain in your back. I’ve done the same thing, and it hurts like hell. You’re supposed to put ice on it, but - ” 

“No, no ice. I’ve had more than enough ice for today.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Peter said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “I, uh…I’d like to try something else. If you’ll let me.” There was such a hesitant tone to his voice that Neal immediately became suspicious.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Do you remember Doctor Tannenbaum?”

“Ah, the man with the magic hands.” Neal couldn’t help chuckling in spite of the pain. “Why, do I look thirsty?”

Peter inhaled sharply and opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it and rubbed at his temple with his thumb. Taking another deep breath, he fixed Neal with a pointed stare. “You know, I was able to pull that off because Elizabeth used to have problems with pain in her back. Yvonne’s sister is a massage therapist and showed me some of the basics so I could take care of El at home when it happened. The pain eventually stopped, but we still use the technique for…other things.” The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Ok,” Neal said, eyes widening. “I’m pretty sure that was an overshare.” When Peter just smiled but didn’t reply, it was Neal’s turn to stare. “So wait. You – you want to give _me_ a massage?”

Peter shrugged. “I could give it a try. Unless you’d rather just stay in bed for the next couple of days with ice packs and heating pads.”

“Days? Um, no, I think I’ll pass.” He frowned, mulling over Peter’s offer. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. Much.”

“Ye of little faith.” Peter grinned and walked away, leaving Neal staring after him. He returned a moment later with a bottle of jojoba oil. “I saw this in your bathroom earlier.”

“It was Sara’s,” Neal muttered absently, still trying to decide if he was comfortable with what was about to happen. 

“I figured as much. El goes through a lot of the stuff.” Peter helped Neal remove his sweatshirt as carefully as possible, cringing in sympathy when Neal gasped.

After helping him roll over onto his stomach and getting him as comfortable as possible, Peter climbed up on the bed with the bottle of oil.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Neal tried unsuccessfully to turn his head and look.

“Just relax. And if you mention this to anyone at the office, I’ll put you back in prison.”

Neal blinked. “Wow. Haven’t heard that one in a long time.” He was so distracted by the mock threat that it caught him completely off-guard when Peter straddled his upper legs. He started to protest, but Peter cut him off.

“Don’t even start. And for God’s sake, if you move your ass while I’m back here, falling on the ice is going to be the least of your problems.”

Neal grumbled under his breath about how much Dr. Tannenbaum’s bedside manner sucked, but he relaxed and listened as Peter started warming some of the oil between his hands. He felt the bed sink as Peter leaned up over him, felt the other man’s hands on his sensitive back.

Neal wasn’t sure exactly what he expected, but he was shocked at the way Peter’s hands glided over his skin, working their way from his shoulders down to the waistband of his sweatpants and back up again. He applied just the right amount of pressure, his hands gently exploring, learning the shape of Neal’s slender body and discovering where the sore spots were by the way the younger man reacted.

As Peter started to concentrate on his upper back, Neal felt any remaining apprehension dissolving under his friend’s palms. He’d gotten massages before, but this was notably different. It wasn’t just the fact that it was a man’s large hands coaxing the pain away from his injured muscles. It was that those hands belonged to Peter Burke.

The combination of Peter’s slow and steady breathing and his ministrations lulled Neal into a rather unexpected state of peacefulness, and his thoughts drifted. From the day Neal walked out of prison and into Peter’s custody, Peter had taken care of him, had been there for him through the highs and lows of his life.

When Kate died, it was Peter who held him on the tarmac and who comforted him in the hangar afterward. When Neal stood before Garrett Fowler, revenge in his heart and a gun pointed at Fowler’s face, Peter was the one who had talked him down and saved him from spending the rest of his life in prison for killing an innocent man. When Vincent Adler forced Neal to defuse the explosive charges on a German U-boat filled with Nazi plunder, Peter Burke was the reassuring presence by his side – and when Adler was about to take Neal’s life as he’d once taken his money, it was Peter who saved Neal from death and took out Adler once and for all.

The longer Peter worked on his back, his movements soft and merciful, the more the pain dissolved away. When Peter asked if he was still ok, all Neal could do was murmur an incoherent affirmation. Peter must have taken it as a positive sign, because he continued with the massage, applying some more oil and moving his hands lower on Neal’s back.

Sinking deeper into the tranquility of the experience, Neal’s mind continued to wander through the things Peter had done for him. He’d fought Matthew Keller to save Neal’s life in spite of what Keller had done to Elizabeth. He’d helped Neal avoid a miserable existence with Kramer in D.C., and then when Collins came after him, Peter had gone all the way to Cape Verde to rescue him. Neal had lost track of the number of times Peter risked his job or his life to keep him safe and on the right side of the law.

When Mozzie was shot, it was Peter who stood beside Neal at the hospital. When Ellen was murdered, Peter was with him at her funeral. Every time Neal and Sara had a falling out, Peter found a way to bring them back into each other’s lives.

Each time Neal had been broken, Peter had been there to put the pieces back together and make him whole again.

And now, once again, Peter was here for him. He could have been sitting on Neal’s sofa watching _SportsCenter_ and telling him to cowboy up. Instead, he was doing everything he could – including stepping outside of his comfort zone – to take care of Neal.

As Peter’s hands continued to knead and caress his back, warm and soothing, Neal came to a startling realization – he was very close to tears. His chest was tight, and he swallowed hard, struggling to contain the emotions that were trying to surface. 

There had never been another man in Neal’s life who loved and cared for him as much as Peter Burke did. The intimacy of the massage, something that Peter usually only shared with his wife, drove that point home, and Neal felt a tear slip down over the bridge of his nose. Another one followed, and he closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing steady so Peter wouldn’t notice.

Peter had actually seen him cry on more than one occasion. This time, though, it wasn’t because someone had died or something terrible had happened. He didn’t particularly want to have to explain to Peter why he was suddenly so emotional, and he wasn’t sure he could put those feelings into words.

Even if he was able to properly convey what was in his heart, he had no idea how Peter would react. How could he tell another man – this man, in particular – that he was crying because no one else had ever touched him so profoundly?

With that thought, Neal broke down. The tears ran unchecked down his face, and though he tried, he couldn’t keep his shoulders from shaking. Peter’s hands stilled on his back.

“Neal?” There was bewilderment in the gravelly whisper. “Hey…” A different tone this time – concern. He knew. Neal cringed and tried to get himself under control. Peter moved to sit beside him on the bed, one of his hands resting on Neal’s shoulder. “Is the pain still that bad?”

Neal shook his head, vaguely surprised that it didn’t hurt to do so. He tried to breathe deeply, hiding his face in the pillows like a child. As always, Peter seemed to understand what he needed. He rubbed the back of Neal’s neck but didn’t speak, giving the younger man time to pull himself together.

When his breathing finally started to even out, Neal carefully pushed himself up on his forearms. There was a minor twinge from his back but just a dull ache beyond that. Stunned, he worked his way up and turned so that he was sitting beside Peter, though he couldn’t yet bring himself to look at the man beside him.

To Peter’s credit, he still didn’t say a word. Instead, he ran a comforting hand over Neal’s upper back, staring straight ahead so as not to make him feel even more self-conscious. Several moments passed before Neal worked up the nerve to speak.

“I’m sorry.” The words were barely audible. A blush had crept up into his cheeks, warming them under the drying tears. He risked a glance at Peter, who was now watching him closely, before looking down at his hands.

Peter shook his head. “You shouldn’t be.”

Neal sighed, the shame continuing to get the better of him. He knew that Peter was right, but he couldn’t help feeling uneasy. He certainly hadn’t expected to react the way he did, and he worried that it might have made Peter uncomfortable as well. 

He felt like he at least owed Peter some sort of explanation, so he took a deep breath and decided to do something he was usually very good at – improvising.

“I just…I don’t know…” So much for improvising. “Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, all the way down to the nape of his neck, where his fingertips brushed against Peter’s.

“So you’ve said. I haven’t figured out why yet.”

“Peter, I…” Again, the words failed him, and he shook his head in defeat. 

“Neal.” Peter’s voice was soft but firm. “Look at me.” Neal resisted at first, worried that looking into Peter’s eyes would make him break down again. After taking a few steadying breaths, he slowly lifted his red-rimmed eyes to meet Peter’s. “You don’t have to explain.” The other man smiled warmly at him, his eyes shining with a deep clarity and understanding. Neal’s humiliation gave way to reassurance, and he attempted a half-smile of his own.

For several long minutes, neither of them spoke. Peter’s hand continued to move lightly over Neal’s skin, back and forth, the rhythm resonating deep in his soul. He was positively serene, and his mood radiated to Neal as they sat next to each other.

Without even realizing he was doing it, Neal rested his head on Peter’s bare shoulder. Peter sighed, a contented hum from deep in his chest, and Neal could sense that he was still smiling.

“How’s your back?”

“Better, I think.” Neal shifted around a bit, testing the muscles in his back and shoulders. He still felt a nagging ache that would probably be there for days, but he couldn’t believe the difference. “Much better. Still a little sore, but it’s nothing like earlier.” He grinned at Peter. “I had no idea you were so adept, Dr. Tannenbaum.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Oh, there are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Dr. Parker.” When Neal chuckled, Peter broke into a smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. You’re lucky; that was a pretty nasty fall.”

“Yeah, about that.” Neal’s voice sobered a bit. “Thanks for sticking around. I don’t know what I would have done without you here.”

Peter glanced down at his hands, absently rubbing them together. A tremor ran through his lower lip, but when he looked back up at Neal, he was still smiling. “Hey, you know, Neal…I’ll be here whenever you need me.”

“Yeah,” Neal’s voice was nearly a whisper. “I know.”

Peter patted him on the knee and then slid off the bed. He checked his t-shirt, found that it had dried, and slipped it on in a well-practiced move. “Now, we haven’t had anything to eat since lunch, so I’m going to raid your kitchen.” He grinned, clearly trying to lighten the mood again. “Can I get you anything? You look thirsty.”

Neal chuckled. “I was going to warm up some of the mushroom risotto and roast chicken in the fridge. There should be enough for both of us.”

“Seriously? What other bachelor has leftovers like that in his fridge?” When Neal managed a shrug, Peter just shook his head. “Well, I have to admit, it’s probably a lot better than what I would’ve had at home.”

“Frozen pizza and beer?”

“DiGiorno Supreme and Heisler.”

Neal looked vaguely nauseated. “You know, I’ve heard that if you chew with your mouth open, it drowns out the sound of your arteries hardening.”

Peter’s response was immediate; he was in the groove. “That’s absolutely true. Satchmo likes it when I eat that way because he has dibs on anything that falls out while I’m chewing.”

“Oh, God.” Neal made a gagging face. “There goes my appetite.” 

Peter looked proud of himself, but he shook his head. “You need something in your stomach with the medication. Chicken and risotto sounds perfect. If you have some with me, I might even be willing to admit that it’s better than pizza and beer.”

When Neal looked at him doubtfully, Peter held up his hands in surrender. “And I promise to chew with my mouth closed.”

\--------------------------------

They ate on the sofa, where it was more comfortable for Neal. The food was, indeed, delicious and seemed to make both of them feel better. As they ate, Peter explained that he’d called Elizabeth while Neal was sleeping and let her know what was going on, as well as texting the Bermans to see if they could keep Satchmo for the rest of the night.

“So that means you’re staying?”

Peter looked over at him, surprised by the question. “I, uh, well, you were in a lot of pain at the time. I still didn’t have any idea what you’d feel like when you woke up, so I left that option on the table.” He stood abruptly and busied himself with taking their empty plates to the sink. “So you want me to head home then?”

“No!” Neal’s answer was a little too eager, and he blushed. Peter had obviously caught it. When he returned to the sofa with another beer for himself and more water for Neal, he was looking expectantly at the younger man. “I guess I’m still getting used to this. You know, having someone around.”

Peter’s cocked his head at him. “Even after all this time?”

“Peter, in my line of work, nothing’s permanent.”

Peter pondered the comment, taking a sip of his beer. “In your old line of work.”

Neal nodded absently and stared out the windows at the ice-covered terrace. “Yeah.” There was an introspective tone in that single word, and a few minutes passed before he turned his gaze back to the man beside him. “When you’ve lived most of your life without a family, and then you suddenly get one, you try not to get too attached.” 

Peter perked up at Neal’s use of the word ‘family,’ and he seemed to mull over the statement. “Hmm. Well, for whatever it’s worth to you, Elizabeth and I will always be here for you, whether you feel attached or not.” He nodded matter-of-factly and patted Neal’s knee. 

Neal smiled and returned the nod, swallowing hard before he replied. “I know. And thank you. It, uh, means a lot.” His hand dropped on top of Peter’s on his knee, and not wanting to get too emotional again, he changed the subject. “So, I guess I’m sleeping here?”

The look in Peter’s eyes made it clear that he recognized the deflection, but he ignored it. “On the sofa? The hell you are. You’re hurt, and you’re sleeping in your bed.”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “So where are you going to sleep?”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it abruptly, doing a double-take. Neal flashed his full-on trademark grin, amused by the other man’s sudden realization, and stated the obvious. “This sofa isn’t even big enough for Moz.” He shrugged, watching Peter closely. “There’s always the other side of the bed.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “You…” He looked back and forth between Neal and the bed, clearly flustered. “You’re serious.”

“I am.” As much as Neal wanted to keep the banter going, his heart wasn’t in it. Not after all Peter had done for him. He sighed, his grin mellowing into a benign smile. “Look, I’ll stay on my side, and I promise I won’t tell anyone at the bureau if you don’t tell them about…what happened earlier.”

Peter’s own expression softened, and he feigned innocence. “Why, what happened earlier?”

“Thank you, Peter.” It was almost a whisper. Peter just nodded, and they fell into a brief silence once again.

“So,” Peter finally said, reaching for the remote on the table in front of them. “We need to let this food digest before we hit the hay. What do you want to watch?”

Neal smiled, relieved by the change of subject. “No baseball.”

“Yankees were rained out.”

“No sports or sports movies.”

“That’s just cruel and unusual. I’m only agreeing to it because I don’t want to see you pout.” Neal started to protest, but Peter cut him off as he spotted something in the listings. “Oh, _Rear Window_. It just started, too. Perfect!”

Neal was floored. “Wait, you like _Rear Window_?”

Peter’s eyes lit up as he realized they’d actually found a common interest. “No, I love _Rear Window_. One of Jimmy Stewart’s best performances, and oh, Grace Kelly…don’t get me started. Hitchcock was an absolute genius.” When Neal continued to stare at him, Peter grinned. “What? I’m not allowed to appreciate anything that doesn’t involve sports or work?”

“No, I just…” Neal shook his head, returning the grin. “You’re full of surprises today, that’s all.”

“Now you know what it’s like to live with _you_ every day.”

Neal laughed and settled in for the movie, getting as comfortable as he could.

He didn’t remember when the exhaustion took over, nor did he recall falling asleep, leaning against Peter with the older man’s arm draped protectively across his shoulders. He could never be sure if it was a dream or reality when Peter roused him just enough to help him to the bathroom, waited patiently for him, then helped him get tucked snugly under the covers in his bed.

None of that was as important as what he did remember – that he really did have people who cared for him and would be there when he needed them. Peter Burke had shown that to be true yet again, as he always did. 

The day’s events were another reminder that Neal finally had the one thing he’d always wanted but couldn’t forge or steal. He had a family, and in the end, that was what truly mattered.

***


End file.
